


an eye for an eye

by jhoom



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, (kinda), (mentioned) - Freeform, Blowjobs, Bottom Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Forced to beg, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Top Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Victorian era, dom nicolo, sub yusuf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26040289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: Nicolo is annoyed about a mission that didn't go quite right and the injuries Yusuf suffered during it; he decides to take his revenge by making Yusuf beg for forgiveness.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 58
Kudos: 332
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	an eye for an eye

**Author's Note:**

> yay! more [Bad Things Happen](https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/) bingo card fill, but with smut instead of angst :) today the prompt is: "forced to beg"
> 
> come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) where i'm taking prompts for [my current bingo card](https://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com/post/626343042674294785/jhoomwrites-here-is-your-new-card-for-bad-things).
> 
> the author does not pretend to know much about the victorian era except what she's read in romance novels ~~*cough*harlequin romances *cough*~~
> 
> important visual references: [nicolo’s naughty behavior at the opera](https://polarcell.tumblr.com/post/626558614776283136/hawkaye-isnt-this-what-you-always-dreamed-of) | [joe’s outfit](https://innovacorsetry.com/products/corset-vest)

It was just Nicolo and Yusuf, a rare moment when Andromache was not with them. It had happened more often than not these past few decades since Sebastian had joined. He was young still, needed training and experience that was easier to acquire on the move with just two of them rather than as a group.

It was nice, having time together. 

It of course meant two things: they had spent long hours defiling every surface of the townhouse where they were staying, and it was left to them to finish any local jobs without the extra support. Not that they _needed_ the help, but there were times Yusuf appreciated not dying. As good as he and Nicolo were, it never hurt to have Andromache there.

They worked a job in the countryside. Light fare for them: a group of men with plans of rebellion and no qualms about hurting anyone who got too close. Over the years, Nicolo and Yusuf had both fueled and squashed many rebellions; It was straightforward enough, and they’d thought it’d be a quick day trip. 

At their age, they were graceful enough to admit when they were wrong. 

The information they’d been given was wrong, they were hopelessly outnumbered, and the men were more brutal than the typical conspirators they’d encountered. Just Yusuf with his scimitar, Nicolo with his longsword, and no more than a pistol between them. It was poor planning on their part, perhaps a little hubris to go along with their boredom, and they paid for it with a rough fight. 

It took the better part of the day, forcing them to ride back to London in the middle of the light. It was nearly dawn when they had to sneak back into their rented townhouse, drenched in blood and smelling of far worse things than that. 

Nicolo had wanted to go to sleep, their bedding be damned, but Yusuf had insisted on cleaning up first. 

It was then that the trouble started; after all these years, Yusuf probably should have seen it coming.

“I’m tired,” Nicolo whined. “We will be just as dirty tomorrow. Why the rush?” 

“You think sleeping in filth will make for a fitful rest?” Yusuf pulled him gently to the tub. Normally they would have water brought up for them, but alas with this much blood, he’d had to take care of it himself. No use starting rumors about themselves among the staff. 

Well… any _more_ rumors. He’d seen the way the servants looked at the two of them, and Nicolo was not quiet. But having whispers about what he and Nicolo did in the privacy of their rooms was a great deal different from having them worry they were employed by murderers. It would certainly make it harder for them to stay in this life. It’d only been a few months, he’d prefer to stay for a while longer. 

“I’ve slept in worse,” Nicolo said, but he indulgently let Yusuf undress them both. 

“No wonder the fight was so hard,” Yusuf said as he laid Nicolo’s clothes aside. “Your clothes are salvageable, you must not have fought very hard. You left all the work for me to do.” 

“I did plenty.” Nicolo climbed into the tub, making a face at the temperature but not complaining. “I am not reckless like some people.” 

“I am not reckless—” 

“You are, amato. Get in the water, maybe you can warm it up for me.” 

He settled between Nicolo’s legs and sighed happily when Nicolo’s hands began to work the muscles of his back. Admittedly, cleaning up was merely an excuse; he had an ulterior motive with his request, and this was it. There was something soothing about this closeness after a fight, the routine of cleaning up and relaxing afterwards. 

If they’d gone to bed, Nicolo would have fallen asleep before Yusuf had gotten a chance to settle himself properly. 

He sat there, letting Nicolo work. For all his grumpy complaining, he worked diligently at washing the muck from Yusuf’s skin. He was not happy to wash the dried blood matted into Yusuf’s hair. 

“Why is there so much?” Nicolo asked in frustration. The tub water was more red than clear by now. Dark clumps sunk to the bottom, pieces of Yusuf and the brigands they’d fought. “Your hair is ruined, my heart.”

“You can cut it, habibi,” he said dismissively. “It might be a lost cause.” 

Nicolo pinched him. Yusuf laughed. 

“I am serious,” Nicolo said. “Why is it so bad?” 

Yusuf was leaning back into Nicolo’s touch. “Hmmm,” he said as he tried to think. What were they talking about? “Oh, a few of the men, they held me down and scalped me before they killed me. Might have botched it, it was such a mess when I woke up—” He paused, realizing Nicolo had gone still behind him. “Is something the matter—?” 

“They scalped you?” Nicolo said, voice dangerously devoid of inflection or tone. “They killed you?” 

“Habibi…” Yusuf sighed. “Please…” 

Perhaps he should have gone to bed. He is normally not so careless. He would never hide things from Nicolo, but there is much to be said for proper delivery. 

“What happened to these men?” he asked sharply. 

“I killed them,” Yusuf soothed. “Of course I did—” 

“They hurt you badly. I can see the proof of it here. Did you kill them as they deserved or were you too quick?” 

Yusuf cursed under his breath, reverting back to his nearly forgotten native tongue. Somehow the words had more meaning when he did. 

“They are dead and we are not. I do not hurt any more, my heart. There is no reason to spoil the moment with thoughts of those unworthy of you.” 

There was a long, brooding silence behind him. 

“Fine,” Nicolo said. “Let me finish cleaning you up then.” 

He was unusually quiet as they finished with their bath and discarded the soiled water. It was not uncommon for Nicolo to shut down a little after a particularly bad fight; he had his Catholic guilt to keep him company, even after all these years, and Yusuf found that sometimes it was better to leave him be while he made peace with what he’d done. 

It wouldn’t last more than a day. 

~ ~ ~

When Yusuf awoke alone the next day, he thought perhaps he’d been mistaken. But there was a note from Nicolo on his side of the bed, so he did not see anything amiss. 

_My Heart,_

_Went to the church this morning. Many errands today — perhaps you can go to the park to sketch? Relax after your hard day, amato._

_I’ll see you at the opera this evening. You should wear the blue jacket, it looks good on you._

_Nicolo_

Yusuf smiled, his eyes tracing the messy handwriting of his beloved like a caress. Nicolo was always so thoughtful, and it pleased him to tuck the note into his sketchbook to re-read later whenever he missed Nicolo’s soothing presence at his side. The park was a good idea, the perfect place to enjoy a quiet day to himself without needing to feel alone. 

Morning faded into late afternoon before he noticed. He’d filled his current sketchbook with scenes from the park and his latest attempt to capture Nicolo’s profile from memory, and now he sat by the water. He fed the ducks pieces of the lunch he’d brought, laughing as they fought over a scrap of bread. 

They quacked in annoyance as he got up and dusted himself off. “Apologies, little friends, but I have no more. I’ll bring some next time when I come for a walk with Nicolo. You remember him, yes? The pretty man with the universe in his smile?” 

The ducks offered no answer; Yusuf waved to them all the same. 

It was a little early, but he went back to the townhouse to change. Their room was undisturbed since he’d left earlier, no sign that Nicolo had come home. He lingered perhaps a little longer than necessary just in case. He bathed again in rose scented water. Despite knowing he was clean, he could not rid himself of the phantom smell of blood and sweat that had followed him all day; he scrubbed harder than necessary and greatly missed Nicolo’s reassurances. 

As requested, Yusuf made sure to put on the blue corset he knew Nicolo adored on him. It was not the most opera-appropriate attire, but he hardly cared if anyone’s eyes were on him. If Nicolo was pleased, he was pleased. A hat, cravat, and jacket completed the ensemble and dressed him up enough that he would not scandalize all of London’s high society. 

Yusuf arrived at their opera box to find it depressingly empty. It was not that Yusuf could not keep himself entertained for the hours, days, weeks, or occasionally months that he and Nicolo found themselves apart. While he would prefer to spend all moments in Nicolo’s company, the times were measured in such small fractions of their life that he could not truly be upset. 

No, the flicker of disappointment he felt now was from expecting to find Nicolo and having their reunion delayed.

With an exaggerated sigh, he took one of the seats and leaned over the balcony to watch the other patrons milling about below them. He wished he’d brought his sketchbook; he did not have Nicolo’s patience. The man had the patience of a saint, able to sit as lookout for long hours without moving. Yusuf had been here no more than ten minutes and his hands itched to _do_ something. 

“You wore the blue,” Nicolo said from behind him. “Good.” 

“Nicolo,” he said, already smiling as he turned to greet his beloved properly. “What errands did you have today, habibi?” 

Nicolo’s outfit was _sinful_. Aside from colors that brought out the vibrance of his eyes, he wore tight pants and an equally well-fitted vest that Yusuf wanted nothing more than to tear off of him. A fact that Nicolo surely knew, given his wicked smile. 

“I was at the tailor,” he said easily and took the other seat. Running a hand over the silk vest, he looked over to Yusuf through his eyelashes. “Do you like my new outfit?” 

Yusuf swallowed. He did nothing to hide the appreciative once over he gave before he leaned in and said, “Nicolo, you are a vision—” 

“Shhh. They are starting.” 

He reeled a little at that. Nicolo enjoyed the opera, but Yusuf flattered himself to think Nicolo enjoyed _him_ more. He narrowed his eyes as the music started and watched Nicolo suspiciously. There _was_ something amiss, though he was not sure what it was. 

The whole first act passed without Yusuf catching a single note of it. Try as he might, his attention was divided and would always drift back to Nicolo. Nicolo, who was a vision of beauty and refinement, stubbornly refused to acknowledge him. He must know Yusuf was watching him more than the performances below, but he steadfastly watched the stage. 

It was driving him mad. 

When the music stopped for the intermission, Yusuf saw his chance. 

“Nicolo…” he said, voice so low it barely carried over the crowd. “Let me take you home.” 

“Why?” Nicolo asked with a faux innocence Yusuf knew all too well. “Are you not enjoying the show, amato?” 

Now that he was actually looking at Yusuf, he saw the barely there smile hidden at the edges of his lips. 

“You look ravishing, and I would very much like to ravish you accordingly—” 

An attendant appeared at the entrance to their box, drinks in hand. Yusuf had not ordered the surface, and he glared at Nicolo; his lover was a wicked man, to invite such an interruption. 

“Could I offer you some scotch, sirs?” the young man asked. 

“No—” Yusuf growled.

“Yes, thank you,” Nicolo said over Yusuf’s protest. He offered a warm smile as he accepted the glass and took a sip. There was an amused glint to his eyes as the man turned to Yusuf. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. If Nicolo insisted on tormenting him so, he might as well. 

He reached for the offered glass but his hand froze in midair as he caught a glimpse of Nicolo. 

Nicolo leaned back in his chair. One hand held the forgotten glass at a precarious angle, though he managed not to spill a drop of it despite his neglect. The other hand traced the line of his inner thigh muscle, fingers splayed over the tight material. There was no mistaking the bulge in his slacks, one that his hand moved closer and closer towards until his thumb was dragging along the edge of his cock through the thin material. 

Yusuf choked pitifully at the sight.

“Sir?” the young man asked, frowning in concern. 

His attention snapped back to the drink in front of him, the confused man who clearly had no clue what depravity was going on behind him. 

“Your drink…?” 

Yusuf cursed in Arabic, then again in Italian to show Nicolo his petulant annoyance, before putting on what he hoped was a dashing smile. “Yes, thank you. Will you be staying here…?” 

“Mister al-Kaysani asked that I stay outside the box in case you need anything else during the remainder of the night.”

Yusuf blinked; while he had been in a low state of arousal since the moment Nicolo arrived, he felt his cock thicken at the name. “Mister al-Kaysani?” 

“Yes,” Nicolo said. His hand had stopped moving, resting just above his knee, so that was something, but he wore a knowing grin. “I am Nicolo al-Kaysani, am I not?”

It was only because he managed to bite the inside of his cheek that he was able to stop himself from saying anything too damning in response. 

“And yes,” Nicolo continued, turning his attention to the confused but patient attendant. “Please stay close. We will be happy to pay you well for your time… and reward you for your discretion.” 

And then to show he meant his words, he offered the youth a handful of shillings. 

“Thank you, sir,” he said enthusiastically. He winked and backed out of the box, bowing a little as he did. “You can count on me, sir. Anything you need, as discreet as you need it.” 

With a click of the door closing, 

“My heart…” 

“Shhh,” Nicolo scolded. “The music, listen. They are starting soon.” 

Yusuf growled in frustration. When Nicolo began moving his hands again, the noise died in his throat; forget growling, he wanted to scream. 

“You always do this,” he whined. “You always tease me so.” He curled his lips downward into his finest pout, the one that was best at getting Nicolo to break when his temper flared. 

It did nothing tonight; likely because Nicolo was not truly _angry_ , and so there was no anger to displace. He was teaching Yusuf a lesson, and there was very little that could derail him now that he’d started. Unless Yusuf lucked out and there was an explosion at the opera house, he would simply have to go through this the hard way to appease him. 

“I do,” Nicolo agreed easily. “And you never learn, my heart. It is almost too easy.” 

“Then show mercy, I beg you.” 

“You will beg,” Nicolo agreed with a smug smile. And then he spread his legs more.

Yusuf whimpered. 

The singers voices were superb, the music splendid, the costumes and scenery particularly well crafted; Yusuf saw and heard none of it despite his best efforts. It was only as the lead singer’s voice reached a crescendo that he broke. He desperately hoped the music would drown out anything else, that the audience would be too caught up in the emotion of the story to let their eyes wander to a lonely box above it all.

In time with the low bass of the drum, Yusuf slid out of his chair and fell to his knees at Nicolo’s feet. 

“Let me—” His hands went to join Nicolo’s at his crotch, but they were instantly swatted away. 

“No.”

“I love you,” Yusuf tried. He kissed the inside of Niccolo’s thigh and looked up for approval.

One Nicolo’s hand came to cup his chin, effectively pulling him away from his groveling; the other hand kept up its torturous movement along his own cock. “I know you do. Try again.”

“What poetry would thaw your cruel heart tonight, habibi? A sonnet for the shade of your eyes when the sunlight dances across them? A verse for each year I have known and adored you? I have declared myself yours in every way I know how, hayati. If I have neglected one, you need only say so and I will correct the error.”

“You know I love the sound of any words so long as they fall from your lips…” Nicolo paused meaningfully. 

“Except…?”

His hand moved from his chin to his cheek, gently stroking with the back of his hand. “Except,” Nicolo began, “when you tell me men torture and kill you, and you do not let them suffer the same in return.” 

Yusuf threw his head back and groaned. His eyes slipped shut as he whispered a silent prayer for the strength to handle Nicolo’s protective (and occasionally vengeful) nature when it came to him. 

“Nicolo Nicolo Nicolo,” he said on a sigh. “They are dead and I am not. I feel none of it anymore, what does it matter—?” 

Abruptly, Nicolo’s touch was gone. Instead his hands were back on himself so he could palm his cock. He raised an eyebrow expectantly. 

“I am sorry,” Yusuf said. There was no point in denying Nicolo. If future chances at bloody revenge for slights not yet suffered were enough to satisfy his beloved, then Yusuf would promise them again and again. He now bowed his head to rest on Nicolo’s chest; he could not quite hear his heartbeat, but he was so familiar with it he felt he could.

“Whatever you wish, I swear it. I will not show mercy, or better yet, I will pass them off to you so they might know true agony at your sword. Tell me what you wish to hear, and you shall hear it a thousand times over.”

He measured the passing time by the notes he heard; it was the most intently he had listened to the opera all evening.

“You are forgiven, my heart.” 

“Then may I—?” 

“You may."

Permission finally given, Yusuf's hands worked to unbutton Nicolo's straining slacks. The second his cock was free, Yusuf licked the head to savor the precome gathered there, to smear it over his tongue and lose himself with the heady first taste. 

Nicolo's hand tangled in his curls, guided his head to urge him to lick down his shaft. Happy that he was allowed anything after so much teasing, Yusuf went willingly. Up and down, sparing a moment to dip his tongue further down and lap at his tightening balls, Yusuf eagerly showed his appreciation for Nicolo’s glorious dick. 

“Use your whole mouth,” he instructed. Having promised so much more, Yusuf could hardly deny such a request. 

He kissed, licked, sucked, before he swallowed Nicolo down to the hilt. He choked, too impatient to be careful, and was rewarded with an approving groan that shook through all of Nicolo’s body. As much as he pretended to be in control, Nicolo was on edge already. 

If there weren’t a dick in his mouth, he might take a chance to tease his beloved. 

Instead he set to work, working his mouth and tongue obscenely over the shaft again and again. It was familiar but still delightful, even after centuries; another millennium, two, three, and he did not think it would be possible for him to tire of pleasuring his Nicolo. 

Hands clenched in his hair, Nicolo shuddered as he came down his throat. 

Nicolo’s breathing still erratic, Yusuf waited patiently. It was only after he became too sensitive that Yusuf pulled off and gingerly tucked him back into his slacks, re-doing the buttons with practiced ease.

"Satisfied?" he said as he licked his lips clean. 

Nicolo watched the movement of his tongue; he was sated, but only for the moment.

"For now. Stay at my knee, my pet. I'll take you again after the next intermission. If you’re good, I may even let you come as well.” 

Yusuf chuckled but did not challenge his bluff. Nicolo had gotten what he wanted, he would not deny Yusuf indefinitely. If he well and truly begged now, Nicolo would give in.

As if knowing the way Yusuf’s thoughts tended, Nicolo huffed. “Do not push, amato. I am still very upset at what happened to you and at your indifference to your own suffering.” 

“I swore

Mollified, Nicolo’s hand settled on the back of Yusuf’s neck; rubbed absentmindedly at the soft skin there. “Let’s watch. I've missed enough already. I need a distraction if I’m to not take you home this moment.” 

“If you think that’s an incentive to be quiet—” 

Nicolo pinched his earlobe. “I want to fuck you in this box while all of London high society is here. Don’t tempt me into leaving.” 

Taking Nicolo’s hand in his, Yusuf rubbed his thumbs across the knuckles before kissing the back of it. 

“Then let us watch.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **bonus scene: nicolo at the church**  
>  **nicolo:** forgive me father—  
>  **priest, wearily:** oh no not you again. what have you done this time? more murders?  
>  **nicolo:** hmm? oh yes, actually. i forgot about that. that’s not why i came today.  
>  **priest, worried:** then what are you here for?  
>  **nicolo:** i am very upset that i did *not* get to murder the men who killed my beloved. i should also confess i plan to sexually dominate him later today as punishment for him killing them quickly instead of letting me drag it out.  
>  **priest:** i’m going to be honest, i’m not trained to handle this type of confession  
> 


End file.
